


Harmless

by reillyblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asshole Derek, BAMF Stiles, Canon, Derek rides a motorcycle, Exhibitionism, Future Fic, Humiliation, I definitely don't recommend these tactics in real life, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, No underage, Outside Sex, Possessive Behavior, Revenge Sex, Voyeurism, bdsm undertones, but it starts circa season 2-3, discussion about rape but no rape in the story, standard warning for my shitty sense of humor, vroom vroom, werewolf instincts, woo ppl nicely pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-29 18:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12636831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: "Let's get one thing straight, Stilinski." A twinge of what seemed like pain flitted through Derek's expression as he looked Stiles up and down. It was not the way Stiles looked at him, not even close. "You're a child to me. A kid. Got it?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check the tags. This is not one of my fluffy stories.

"Fucking unfair," Stiles seethed to himself as he climbed the stairs to Derek's loft. He was the planning guy. He was the brains. And in this particular situation (and most situations, let's be real), he was the one who did all the research. So it was really _fucking_ _unfair_ that after he shared said valuable information, the rest of the pack voted him into courier duty so that the "real warriors" could gear up for the upcoming fight.

He paused at the intimidating metal doors of Derek's loft to the sound of... something. A soft, rhythmic grunting. It could be fighting, or... Stiles shook himself at the thought, ignoring the confusing pang of both fear and arousal. It was probably fighting. This was Beacon Hills, after all. The goblins the rest of the pack was currently preparing -- _without him_ \-- to ambush had probably already ambushed Derek because that's just how great they were at this whole villain-fighting business. Luckily for Stiles, the doors were slightly ajar, enough that he could peek into the loft without giving away his position (at least visually) to what was likely a gang of goblins playing pinata with Derek. 

Much to his relief, that's not what he saw.

Derek was working out in the middle of the loft, the couch pushed aside to make room for a weight bench. He was pumping a truly frightening amount of weight, so frightening that Stiles's first instinct was to rush inside and ask him if he could help lift it off of him, as much good as that would do. 

That's not what he did.

It was a little like seeing Lydia the first day of high school, that addictive rush of longing that rooted him to the spot. On an average day, Derek was hot, sure, but this was... he was shirtless, for one thing, which was always overwhelming. Derek had the kind of body that Stiles could barely even imagine, let alone accept that it existed in reality. Plus, he was wearing thin basketball shorts that hid exactly nothing, leaving the muscles in his thigh and the suggestion of his dick pronounced as his body strained against the weight. Stiles's mouth went dry at the thought of what it would feel like to touch Derek like this, his skin sweaty and smooth, his muscles solid and huge. 

Every pump of Derek's arms was mesmerizing -- the way his entire body tensed with the weight of it, sweat glistening in the shifting glare of the low lighting, the stifled groans Derek hissed out with each push upwards. The expression on his face as he lifted the weight from him was like porn: intense and focused, tense with the strain. Every moment that body had pressed against Stiles's own flooded his memory in vivid technicolor as Stiles found himself sweating in the aftermath of the rush of arousal. He was desperate to find out whether the way he imagined Derek would feel, would taste, matched reality. The longer Stiles watched, the more nerves in his body lit up with desire and the harder it was to convince himself to move. 

Stiles swallowed hard and felt his hand creeping toward his thigh, his painfully stiff erection begging for some kind of touch. Shame mingled with arousal at the thought of touching himself while watching Derek like this, hidden from sight just outside his door. He stared at his hand, willing it to back off, to edge away from his groin, to rest safely at his side. It seemed stuck on the top of his thigh, not quite relieving his ache but not quite innocent. 

"Stop." 

Stiles stumbled back from the door, suddenly confronted with Derek Hale's presence in the no longer empty doorway. He had a towel around his neck and he looked almost bored with Stiles, distinctly uninterested in him as he walked out of Stiles's sight and in the direction of the kitchen. 

Stiles barely caught himself before he actually toppled to the ground in surprise. Everything in him seemed to sink to the floor, though -- his heart dropped so rapidly he thought he might die, his head spun with sudden heat and dizziness, his limbs weighted down with guilt that seeped almost instantly into every molecule. His erection wilted in record time.  _Stop_ was all Derek had said, but the totality of his dismissal knocked the wind from Stiles. 

Shame crushed Stiles's windpipes and left him with nothing to say. Further compounding his humiliation, all he could do was stand there in the dark for several moments, his mind blank, his body frozen. There were just no excuses. Derek had known he was there all along, for however long it was, watching him. There was no spinning it for anything other than what it was: Stiles was so attracted to Derek that he was unable to control himself. He'd utterly disregarded his privacy, and maybe... maybe he wouldn't have stopped if Derek hadn't caught him.

The only thing he could be glad of was that Derek was obviously unafraid of him -- surprising, given the fifty-pound difference of pure muscle weighted in Derek's favor --  so he hadn't hurt anyone but himself with his creepiness. 

Seeing no way to talk his way out of the situation, Stiles was preparing himself to make a run for it when Derek reappeared in the doorway. He pushed it open to actually look at Stiles and leaned casually against it. He had some kind of disgusting protein shake in one hand as he leveled Stiles with a bored look. 

"There something you needed?" he asked without a change in his level of interest. 

"No," Stiles managed, his voice sounding hoarse. Like all he had come here to do was watch Derek through the crack in his door. There was something he needed, but he couldn't think.

"Then get out." 

Derek closed the door securely this time. 

At the sound of it, Stiles's body released him and he ran.

It wasn't until later, when he was curled over the steering wheel of the jeep trying to scrub everything that had just happened from his memory, that he remembered about the goblins. 

 

 

 

The great thing about constant life-or-death situations is that they tend to distract from the other less deadly but equally terrible parts of life. When a biker gang of goblins corners you in a gas station and you have to work together with someone you swore to never talk to again in order to survive, you do it. In summary, Stiles didn't actually die from embarrassment the next time he saw Derek. Actually, he had to steal one of the goblins' bikes with him and ride in the back.

They left the gas station aflame, Scott and Allison behind them on another bike, Isaac and Cora bringing up the rear on another bike. A still-flaming goblin escaped from the rubble and mounted one of the bikes left behind, chasing after them and looking like a furious ball of fire on wheels. As Stiles had recently discovered after hours of translating an ancient Romanian bestiary, goblins are fucking difficult to kill. Fire is about the only thing that will do it -- thus their brilliant blow-up-the-abandoned-gas-station plan. Stiles definitely didn't want to physically fight one, even with a werewolf (or four).

Derek glanced over his shoulder as Stiles gestured wildly to get his attention because, hey, poison-spitting, knives-growing goblin hot on their tails. Scott sped past them in the next second, though, and made eye contact with Derek. Stiles saw the flash of their eyes -- blue and red -- and then their silent telephone game apparently ended as Derek reared off to the right while Scott (or, more accurately, Allison, as she was the one driving) and Isaac pulled sharply to the left. 

Unsurprisingly, the goblin took what Stiles hoped was supposed to be the bait and followed after Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Cora. Derek drove for another half a mile before he turned sharply, off-roaded the divide between the highway, and sped back to the flaming gas station. They stopped a good distance away, watching the fire in silence. 

Stiles wasn't good at silence. 

"... What are we doing?" 

"We're making sure no others get out alive." Derek's voice sounded gruff and muffled under the helmet. Stiles wished he had a helmet too, given how Derek drove.

"Scott's ok with that thing?" 

"He'll call if he needs us. Isaac and Cora have his back." 

Stiles took his hands off Derek's sides with a jerk. He hadn't realized that he had held on long after they'd stopped. He wished he could hide under a rock rather than sitting here in awkward silence, pressed way too close to Derek. 

Suddenly Derek tensed and Stiles felt what seemed like a sonic boom. The force of it nearly knocked him off the bike, but Derek grabbed him with his claws out and steadied him. 

"Shit," Stiles breathed. "What was that?" 

"It's a _gas station_ , Stiles, what do you think it was?" Derek asked dryly. He retracted his claws from Stiles's side. Stiles silently mourned his sweater, undoubtedly full of jagged holes now. 

"Nobody's used that thing since the eighties." Stiles squinted at the red and yellow mess as it died back down to a more normal size. "That's why we picked it."

"If they weren't dead before, they're dead now," Derek confirmed with grim confidence. "I count the same number of bikes. Unless they ran off by foot into the woods, I think we're safe." 

Stiles felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He opened it to a picture of what looked like a half-charred body next to a bike with serious road rash. Yeesh. It was like one of those "don't be stupid or else" pictures they forced you to look at in Driver's Ed. 

"This guy's toast too," Stiles announced, showing the picture to Derek. Derek huffed in response. Stiles chose to interpret as a good thing. 

"I hear sirens." Derek tilted his head to the side.

"Someone called the fire department. My dad will probably be with them, shit." Stiles reluctantly grabbed onto Derek's waist again. "Let's scram." 

Derek revved the engine unnecessarily before he took off. Stiles wished again that Derek would give him his helmet -- he was the fragile human after all, and Derek drove like he didn't care if they died. The bastard could probably walk away from pretty much any wreck.

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to ignore every uncomfortable feeling -- his lingering humiliation, anxiety over Derek's driving, fear of getting caught by his dad -- until they slowed to a stop outside his home. 

Stiles stumbled off the bike, tripping as he yanked his leg over the seat. Derek was quiet, but Stiles felt like he was laughing at him under that stupid helmet. 

"So." Stiles chewed his lip as he stood there staring at Derek, fidgeting in place. It was probably best to apologize now so that they could both get a head start on forgetting it ever happened. "I'm sorry... about. Y'know." 

Derek stared at him for an inscrutable minute before he took the helmet off. He looked like a goddamn pinup with the leather jacket and the motorcycle and the smoldering eyes. Stiles hated his treacherous dick for getting hard just from the sight of him standing there, doing nothing. Derek eyed Stiles for another moment, some of the earlier icy detachment returning to his expression. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Stilinski." Derek sighed through his nose. What seemed like pain flitted through his expression as he looked Stiles up and down. It was not the way Stiles looked at him, not even close. "You're a child to me. A _kid_. Got it?" 

Stiles wondered why the hell he thought apologizing would make him feel _better._ Sure, it was the right thing to do, but Stiles had to stop expecting any kind of empathetic reaction from Derek Fucking Hale. 

"Loud and clear." Stiles stared at his shoes. 

"If I catch you doing that again, I'm tossing you out the window," Derek muttered as he put his helmet back on. 

 

 

Derek hadn't ridden the motorcycle in a while. It was kind of fun, he had to admit. 

Since the goblins obviously had no more use for it, Derek kept it and packed it in storage until he finished building his second house in the preserve. He'd only rediscovered the motorcycle while he was moving his things out of storage and into the new house. He stared at it every morning for a week after he moved in. He usually took the Camaro to work, but something about this morning had just felt right. 

The other deputies teased him over it when he drove up, but Derek didn't give a shit what they thought. It felt good — the open air against his face, the legitimatization of his leather coat. The memories of that perky little pack of misfits he'd half-created, most of whom had drifted off to college and left him to man the Beacon Hills police station with the Sheriff.

Speaking of, he'd have to actually get the bike checked out by Deaton to make sure those goblins hadn't cursed it secretly or something. He was finally settling into his life; he didn't need any more curses hanging over his head.

"Sweet ride." 

Derek sensed the Sheriff before he heard him, could smell the familiar, father-like scent of old blankets and coffee. Derek smiled to himself as he pulled on his leather gloves. Noah gave him shit like everyone else, but it was tolerable coming from him.

"Thanks." 

"Is it new? I usually see you in the Camaro," Noah asked him. 

"Not new, exactly," Derek hedged. Noah was supernatural-safe, but the parking lot of the justice department wasn't. "I just haven't used it in a while." 

"I guess I don't need to tell you to be careful." The Sheriff considered him with a small smile, hands on his hips. "I've seen some ugly motorcycle deaths in my time, but I have a feeling you'd spring back from the worst of them." 

"You're going home earlier than usual," Derek noted. Usually the Sheriff was the last out of the station. Derek had been taking off as early as possible lately to work on building his new home, but now that it was finished he found himself heading out early entirely out of habit. 

"My son is home," Noah replied, his voice rich with the kind of happiness that couldn't be contained. "You remember him? Gets into trouble a lot?" 

That was an accurate description of Stiles if he ever heard one.

"He's making a pot roast tonight to celebrate the fact that we're both in the same place for once. It's spring break." 

"Sounds good," Derek commented as neutrally as possible. A familiar, uncomfortable longing settled in his gut at the memory of the rowdy teenagers, especially recalling the nosiest one. In his more honest moments, Derek could admit that he missed having a pack. Isaac was the only one left now since Cora was traveling abroad in Germany. 

"You want to come? He's supposedly making a lot," the Sheriff offered immediately. They ate dinner or lunch together at least once a week. Derek was the only other member of the force with supernatural knowledge, so they worked together at first out of necessity and later out of mutual appreciation. 

"I need to finish painting the garage before it gets dark. Thanks,” Derek excused himself with a grateful nod. The Sheriff talked about Stiles a lot: a good scholarship to a good school, plans for graduate school, a nice boyfriend that the Sheriff liked. He'd seen Stiles around the station over the summer a few times in the last few years, worked a few supernatural issues with him when he happened to be in town for Christmas break or something, but they weren't what he would consider friends. He could count on one hand the people he did consider friends, actually, including Noah. Besides, he knew better than most how precious time with family could be, and he didn't want to intrude on that, even with an invitation. 

"He mentioned you once. Or twice. You should stop by and say hello, at least," the Sheriff said after a pause, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I think it drives him a little crazy that you don't keep in touch with any of them. He likes to keep tabs." 

Derek shrugged, stiff. 

"Alright." 

"I'll let him know, then." The Sheriff smirked at him triumphantly and Derek realized too late that he'd been cornered into being social, yet again. Noah seemed obsessed with "getting him out of his shell," like he had made it his personal mission to make sure Derek didn't isolate himself. It was kind of nice, in an annoying sort of way. 

"Fine," Derek grumbled as he jammed the helmet on his head. He may not have to worry that much about breaking his skull in a wreck, but he didn't appreciate bugs in his teeth, either. 

The Sheriff chuckled and waved as Derek pulled out of the parking lot. 

 

 

Derek actually did have to finish painting his garage before he lost daylight, so he spent the rest of the evening doing that. As soon as night fell, Derek showered and reluctantly dressed again. Noah would hold him to his promise; he would know one way or another if Derek failed to contact Stiles before he left for school again. 

He parked outside the Stilinski house and noted the absence of Sheriff's car. He checked the scanner and confirmed there was a call out for a burglary, and since they were short on night staff this week the Sheriff likely felt responsible for checking on it. An unfamiliar car was parked outside the house, though, which Derek figured belonged to his unruly son. 

Grumbling to himself, Derek shut the car door and walked up to the front door. He could hear noises from inside — probably just the TV — so someone was home. Checking around the front deck, Derek saw the light on in Stiles's bedroom window. 

Old habits died hard. Without even thinking about it, Derek swung himself up the tree by the window and leaped onto the roof. He was walking the length of the drainpipe when he recognized the sounds coming from Stiles's room. 

Either Stiles was watching porn. 

Or. 

Stiles was enacting porn.

Derek paused feet from the window. Despite himself, he was curious about which answer was the correct one. He considered his own amusement if he embarrassed Stiles with his dick out. The last time he saw him, Stiles had taken every opportunity to announce that he could legally drink now that he was officially, completely an adult. Apparently, that meant that Derek couldn't "boss him around like a teenager anymore". Like Derek wasn't still six years older than him, the little shit. Getting caught masturbating in his childhood bedroom would probably take him down a peg.

With that obnoxious memory fresh in his mind, he stepped up to the window and crouched down with a smirk. He immediately froze. 

Neither option was correct: Stiles wasn't watching porn and he wasn't masturbating. Since the only light in the room was from the computer, it was mostly shrouded in darkness, but what was illuminated was strangely shocking to Derek. 

Stiles was naked and straddling some guy -- probably the boyfriend the Sheriff had been talking about -- on his bed. He was grinding his hips, the long curve of his body a gorgeous play of shadows and light that flipped Derek's stomach in an unpleasant way. His neck was long and exposed as he tilted his head back in pleasure, eyes fluttering and mouth hanging open with each soft moan. His waist tapered from broad shoulders, broader than Derek remembered, his stomach ridged in slim muscle and a light dusting of hair. He was seated facing away from his partner and toward the window, strong thighs parted over the body under him, his hips rolling forward and back in graceful motions. Those little movements left Derek's mouth watering. For a moment he imagined himself under those tantalizing, parted thighs, his cock spearing up into that beautiful body. 

It was immediately clear that this was an intimate moment, not the one Derek thought he could break up with a dig about masturbatory practices. He needed to leave Stiles to his boyfriend, but Derek found he couldn't look away, blown away by how different Stiles looked. When he wasn't hidden under twelve overshirts and various immature slogans, Stiles looked like _this._  He was something else entirely. The image of Stiles that Derek had built up in his mind over the last however many years was shattered by the image in front of him. 

Derek watched, fascinated, as Stiles put a hand behind him to push down on his partner's chest and lift his hips in some kind of swirling downward thrust. The guy underneath him moaned loudly. Stiles grinned to himself, breathless but pleased, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. He repeated the action to the continued approval of his partner. Derek couldn't stop staring at Stiles's bobbing dick, evidence of how much Stiles enjoyed riding that guy's cock. Seemed to love it, even, given how eagerly he ground down and how intentional each movement was.

"You like that?" Stiles murmured to his partner, peering over his shoulder. "You ready to come?" 

"Yeah," came the breathless whimper. 

"Come for me," Stiles smiled, twisting to look behind him at his partner as he moved his hips in tight, sharp thrusts. The guy underneath him grabbed at his waist, raking his hands up Stiles's smooth, taught stomach and clutching at his chest. It made Stiles arch more, exposing his stomach in a way that had Derek's animal instincts snarling inside of him. Stiles spread his legs as he arched, his cock jutting into the air with each thrust.

Derek didn't know what the _fuck_ he was doing still watching this, why he was mesmerized by the sight of Stiles -- _Stiles_ , of all people -- riding some other guy's dick. He'd always thought of him as an annoying cousin; he could admit he liked him if pressed, but he wasn't _happy_ about it. 

Which didn't explain why his dick felt harder than it had in years.

He was _just_ about to leave -- no really, he was -- when Stiles finally caught sight of him. Frankly, Derek had been kneeling in the window for several minutes at least, so Stiles had to be deeply engrossed in his own pleasure not to notice him sooner. Their eyes met and Stiles stiffened, his hips stuttering to a halt. 

Derek, for his part, felt like someone had dropped a bucket of ice water over his head. 

They stared at each other for a long second. Derek watched with dismay as Stiles's relaxed expression transformed into panic and confusion, his hand jerking suddenly to cover his exposed groin. Derek briefly contemplated his best course of action. He couldn't very well hide and pretend he hadn't seen what he'd seen, but he also didn't want to make the situation even more awkward for Stiles and... whoever Stiles was fucking.

As Derek considered his options, Stiles's expression settled into something more neutral. 

"What's wrong?" the guy under Stiles asked. 

Stiles's hips started to move again. He uncovered his cock, which was still hard, and stroked one hand down his thigh and back.

"Nothing." 

Derek could barely believe it, but Stiles was fucking back onto that dick again, all while holding Derek's gaze. Derek's heart thumped wildly in his chest as Stiles sensually trailed a hand up his stomach, rubbing his skin like he knew exactly what Derek wanted to do. His dick pulsed when Stiles let out an exaggerated moan and tilted his head back to expose his neck completely, all while rocking his hips. His wolf zeroed in on that exposed throat, activated by the pose. No way was that an accident, either. Stiles knew exactly what that pose did to a werewolf, let alone in the middle of sex. 

When Stiles lowered his head again to find Derek still watching, a smile tugged at the edge of his parted mouth. Holding Derek's eyes again, he trailed the hand resting on his chest back down his stomach. Then Stiles fingered his cock, delicately swiping down and then up, rubbing the head in a teasing way. His hand left his cock and reached down between his legs, presumably grabbing at his boyfriend's balls. 

"Jesus, that's hot."

Derek almost growled at the sound of the other man. This wasn't for him anymore. This was for _Derek._  

"I'm coming..." the guy groaned. 

Stiles grinned at Derek, breathless, his gaze unwavering. 

"Yeah. Come, baby," Stiles whispered, his eyes hooded as he lazily pumped his hips back to meet the guy's weak thrusts. The sound and sight of it had Derek clutching at the window frame to keep himself from breaking through the window to get at Stiles. The animal in him howled with rage. _His_. This was for _him_ and that fucker was stealing this moment from him with his fucking voice. He was coming in Stiles when it should be Derek coming in Stiles.

It should be Derek.

Derek felt his teeth itching to lengthen. The change bubbled under the surface of his skin, just a hair trigger away from rippling through him. Stiles slowed his thrusts until he came to a complete stop, patting the thigh of the guy underneath him a few times as if to ask if he was done. 

"You want some help?" The guy made to get up, but Stiles quickly put a hand back on his chest to stop him. 

"I'll do it," Stiles assured him, smiling again as he turned back to Derek. He closed his eyes and started stroking his dick in earnest. As Derek watched, Stiles's expression tightened with concentration and his lips parted over quickening breaths. When his cock started spurting ropes of come, all the tension drained from Stiles's face. He met Derek's unwavering gaze. 

"Yeah," Stiles breathed, chest shuddering with each pulse. He brought his hand to his mouth and slowly licked the come off, his tongue sliding between his fingers in an imitation of fellatio.  

The wood crunched under Derek's hand. 

"What was that?" The guy actually did sit up this time. Derek threw himself to the side and out of sight, wrenched from his trance-like state. 

"Just a bird, I think. Maybe a squirrel," came Stiles's response, utterly nonchalant. Fuck. 

"Cool. Ok." 

There were sounds like bodies moving. Derek realized he hated even the sound of the other guy _moving_  or _breathing_ now. He'd never felt so violent toward an innocent person before. Derek listened as clothes were put on, bed covers adjusted, come wiped up. The unmistakable sound of a condom being tied and tossed. Then an awkward throat clearing. 

"Hey, this was great. You are... so hot. Catch you around sometime?" 

"Yeah, dude. I'd be down for hooking up again. You know how to find me on Grindr." 

Grindr? That wasn't right. Stiles had a boyfriend. Derek remembered because Noah loved him and told Derek they were both studying... whatever Stiles was studying. Derek made a mental note to start paying attention when Noah talked about Stiles. 

"Yeah. Cool." 

"My dad could come home any time. I'll walk you out." 

"So... you're just back on break? You don't actually live here?" 

The sound of their voices faded as their footsteps moved away from the room and down the stairs. Derek sat there at the window, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened. He listened as the front door opened and someone walked down the walkway, away from the house. Then nothing, for several moments, other than the sound of a car starting and taking off down the street. 

Then he heard Stiles climb the stairs and open the door to his room. 

Derek was still deliberating whether he should leave before this got any weirder when the window opened. Stiles poked his head out first and checked to see if Derek was still there. Once he saw him, he leaned against the frame opposite him, his expression cool and vaguely arrogant as he surveyed Derek for a moment. Derek didn't rise to the bait, refusing to show any of the thousands of emotions he was feeling at that moment on his face, not the least of which was an overpowering, animalistic urge to _possess_.  

Stiles smiled and shook his head, laughing softly to himself. He was shirtless, dressed only in boxers, and up close like this he was even more mouthwatering. His skin was taught and dotted with little moles, his frame lithe and toned. Whatever Stiles was doing to work out, it fit his body type. Probably some sort of running or swimming since his muscle tone was slim but firm rather than bulky like Derek's, which was largely due to lifting. Well, lifting and werewolf genes. 

"So," Stiles smirked at him, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, "other than cracking my window frame... there something you needed?"

He seemed to relish saying those words, though Derek didn't know why. Derek didn't answer, wondering what Stiles was playing at by pretending whatever just happened between them didn't. 

Stiles's grin spread as he leaned forward and whispered, almost playfully, "Then get out." 

Derek reeled as Stiles pulled the window shut and left him there in his confusion. The wolf inside him hated it. It begged to slam the window open and chase after Stiles; push him back onto that bed and rid the smell of that stranger from the sheets, from Stiles's skin; lick it out of him; fuck and come deep inside of him; push his scent into him and paint his insides with it. 

Derek took a deep breath and left.  

 

 

 

 

Back at home, Derek quickly realized that there was no way he could sleep. He wanted to... well, what he really wanted was to drive back to Stiles's house and fuck him senseless. That wasn't happening, obviously.

He went for a run even though it was nearly midnight. The night air burned in his lungs but failed to clear his head. He just kept replaying the image of Stiles tilting his chin back, arching his stomach, smiling at him. 

Coming on his hand and then licking it off in front of him. 

Fuck, but this was some bullshit. Stiles wasn't sexual to him. Stiles was... Stiles. Stiles bickered with him and fucked up his plans and somehow he was always right, but he wasn't sexy. He wasn't hot. Derek wasn't attracted to him. 

Ok, Derek _wasn't_ attracted to him -- past tense. As in, back when they actually spent time together, back when Stiles was just one awkward teenager in an awkward teenage pack and Derek formed his opinion of him. Now, the problem wasn't that Stiles was still a teenager, it was that Derek still _thought of him_ as a teenager when he... wasn't. He was an adult. He was graduating from college after this quarter, if Derek remembered correctly. He was... old enough to buy his own beer rather than beg Derek to do it for him. Old enough to put on a show for Derek while fucking someone else. 

Which is exactly what Stiles had been telling him at every opportunity, Derek realized slowly. He looked back at his last few interactions with Stiles with growing surprise. Last Christmas break, Stiles had shown up at the police holiday party and made a big deal about being able to drink champagne freely in a room full of policemen, which Derek had rolled his eyes at. He remembered Noah saying how odd it was that Stiles insisted on coming since he'd never shown an interest before. Then, two summers ago, Stiles showed up randomly at Derek's new house and insisted on helping him build it. He was a horrible carpenter and he made a mess of the stairs, so Derek had thrown him out, surly and indignant. Derek had never understood why he showed up in the first place. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that Stiles was fond of doing that -- showing up randomly where Derek was and bothering him. Maybe... 

Derek slowed to a stop in the middle of the well-worn trail. Crickets chirped around him, bringing music to the quiet forest. 

Maybe Stiles was actually kind of into him.

 

  

  

When the Sheriff sat down in the empty seat by Derek's desk at lunch, Derek nearly had an out-of-body experience. Noah didn't look mad, but Derek felt like he must be able to sense, somehow, that Derek had been creeping outside his son's window last night. And then beating off to the memory of him later that night. And maybe again this morning. 

"Stiles said you stopped by last night." 

Well, that was just great. 

"For a minute," Derek admitted, keeping his eyes on his paperwork and away from the prying eyes of the Sheriff. 

"He invited you to dinner. Thought you looked lonely." The Sheriff grinned at him as if to say "I told you so". Derek had to resist the biting response on the tip of his tongue. 

"Did he."

"Tonight is soyburgers." The Sheriff grimaced. "His idea, not mine. See you then."   

"Maybe," Derek grimaced too as the Sheriff patted him on the back on his way back out the door. What was Stiles playing at? Telling him to get out one night and then inviting him to dinner with his father the next?

Derek wasn't biting. He didn't know what was going on with Stiles, and now he didn't want to. Derek didn't like being toyed with like this. It reminded him too much of Kate. 

No. Stiles wasn't Kate. He was... better. Much better. In every way. Derek knew that. 

Ok, so _maybe_ Derek cared what was going on with him. If nothing else, his behavior was strange. But he wasn't going to dinner. Not for soyburgers, at least.  

Derek hated himself as he walked up to the Stilinski home later that night. He told himself he was there because it was just plain rude to decline a dinner invitation two nights in a row. 

"Hey." The door opened before he reached it, Stiles looking down at him with a mysterious expression. It was surreal to see him in a such a normal, almost polite circumstance after the filth of their last encounter. Stiles was dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans, but even like this he looked different than Derek remembered. Taller. His shoulders stretched the shirt too much, his muscles were too defined under the cloth. Derek was caught off guard for a moment, unsure how to react to seeing him. The sudden flare of animal possession that was born in him last night sparked at sight of Stiles's doe eyes and quirky lips. 

Derek didn't respond other than to hand him a bottle of wine. Stiles took it, staring at it for a moment before he stepped back and let Derek through the door. 

"I told you he'd be here," Noah's voice came from down the hall in the kitchen. 

"You also told me you cut potato chips out of your diet," Stiles returned, an air of disbelief in his voice. "We all know you lie." Then Stiles turned back to Derek. "Dad stole the grill from me. Said I wasn't doing it right. You want to sit?" He gestured at the couch in the living room. He didn't seem awkward, almost normal. Like nothing had happened. 

Derek wasn't as good at playing pretend. He sat down, silently contemplating Stiles's nonchalance. Stiles was never much good at silence so he almost immediately started talking. It was hard not to notice that the changes in him extended beyond his physical looks to how he conducted himself. Derek remembered him as fidgety and insecure, always looking for praise, quick to make a joke or interject with witty nonsense. Now Stiles chatted with ease, his shoulders back and his hands clasped firmly on his knees as he leaned forward o rest comfortably on his elbows. 

"Dad says you've been a huge asset to the department, that homicides are down almost twenty percent just since you joined. That's incredible, man. And to think, you started off with the beacon hills PD as a murder suspect. Quite the climb. Gotta admit, it's a little weird when you call dad 'Noah' now, but I guess you get close when you're the only two supernatural hunters in town." 

"Isaac's still here," Derek responded almost by instinct. "And Chris," he added with some distaste. 

"Chris isn't terrible," Stiles's mouth quirked with amusement. "He's going to help me plan my law office here. Well, him and dad." 

"You're going into law?" Derek couldn't hide his surprise. 

"Criminal." Stiles nodded, his eyes gleaming. "If you remember, I'm much better at taking down the bad guys with my words than with my fists." 

Derek shifted uncomfortably when Stiles smiled. His dick twitched at the memory of Stiles smiling at him like that, sans clothes. 

"So you're coming home. Back here," Derek clarified, his eyes narrowing. He'd gotten the sense that Stiles wanted to leave Beacon Hills and never look back. 

"Why not?" Stiles shrugged and it seemed like he meant it. "Dad's getting older, you know. There's a constant shortage of competent defense attorneys. Plus, Phillipe and I aren't a thing anymore, so there's nothing holding me to the city." 

"Phillipe." Derek's eyebrows shot up. He did not remember Stiles ever saying his boyfriend's name before. He'd kind of figured they'd broken up after witnessing the whole Grindr sex thing, but it was good to get confirmation. 

"Yeah, my ex," Stiles said casually. Almost too casually. "Cute Mexican guy? About yay tall?" Stiles gestured with his hand, staring at Derek with a hint of annoyance. "You met him two summers ago when he stayed with us for, like, a month? This ringing _any_ bells for you?" 

"Why do I need to remember him if you broke up with him?" Derek asked, annoyed with Stiles's insistence over something that didn't matter. Stiles stared at him in response. Then his face broke into an exasperated smile that seemed forced. 

"Good point, I guess. Let's move on from exes, shall we?" 

"Why," Derek asked suddenly. 

"Why..." Stiles trailed off, tilting his head to the side. "What?" 

"Why did you break up?" Derek enunciated slowly and carefully. Stiles looked surprised that Derek would actually ask that. He considered him for a moment before he broke his gaze. 

"We wanted different things," he said to his knee. It was the first slip of real emotion Derek had noticed from him since he walked in the door. Stiles had been almost forcefully neutral up to that point.

"What did you want?" Derek asked lowly. It wasn't something he would have asked before, but now he was genuinely curious. What did Stiles -- this new Stiles -- actually want? He didn't know what to expect from him anymore. 

For some reason, Stiles shuddered at that question and shifted lower on the couch, spreading his legs just a little bit. The gesture drew Derek's attention and he found his eyes dropping to Stiles's clothed crotch. He could just make out a slight bulge. His mouth watered at the memory of Stiles exposed, his cock bobbing in the air as he thrust his hips. Derek forced himself to look back into Stiles's eyes before he could get hard at the memory. Stiles seemed to have noticed the direction of his distraction, a too-familiar pleased look flitting through his expression.

"What do you think I want?" Stiles asked, his voice low to match Derek's. 

Derek stared at Stiles, trying to figure him out as the air between them grew hotter and tenser. 

"To fuck guys you don't know while your dad's out on a police call?" Derek suggested in a quiet voice. Noah was still in the kitchen -- Derek could hear him singing No Woman No Cry to himself -- but it thrilled Derek a little to see Stiles's eyes dart to the hallway like he was afraid his dad might hear. 

"There something wrong with that?" Stiles challenged, one eyebrow rising a little. 

Not really, but that didn't mean Derek had to like it. 

"Risky for a human," Derek pointed out, looking away so Stiles couldn't see just how much it bothered him. "You never know with strangers." 

"So you're suggesting I should fuck only people I know?" Stiles asked quietly with an almost pleasant smile. It was unnerving to see how easily he could discuss something that would have had him sputtering in embarrassment before. Derek could see how he'd been caught, but he hated that it was Stiles who had caught him. 

"More reckless than I would have expected from you." Derek narrowed his eyes at him. The animal in him wanted Stiles to himself more than ever, wanted to hear Stiles say he wouldn't do it again. Get him to promise it. Derek didn't even like the _idea_ of someone else touching him, though he had no grounds to ask for it. 

"Oh, I see." Stiles nodded in understanding and Derek's stomach twisted. "You were just concerned for my safety. That's why you stayed and watched." 

Fuck. 

Luckily, Noah saved him by calling for them to come to dinner. With a triumphant smirk at Derek that reminded him a little too much of the Sheriff, Stiles got up and left without another word. 

Dinner was terrible. Stiles was completely normal, Noah was pleasant and funny as usual, and the two of them bickered in such an endearing way that Derek felt like he should just get up and leave them to it. Derek, on the other hand, was battling the wolf inside of him that bristled and snarled at Stiles's blatant teasing. As a result, he answered in one-word sentences and stayed mostly silent, resisting the urge to stare at Stiles's neck or lean closer to catch his scent or corner him in the kitchen and push him up against the counter to grind into him. He couldn't remember struggling with his wolf like this before, not over a potential sexual partner. Something about watching Stiles last night had activated every territorial, jealous instinct in his animal brain and left him feeling out of control. 

Stiles poured them all a glass of wine before they moved from the kitchen into the living room. Noah put on a game show and Stiles sat next to him, their shoulders bumping when they bickered over correct answers. Derek sat in a chair off to the side and pretended to watch it with them. This, at least, felt familiar and safe. This Derek could understand about Stiles: he loved his father, Noah loved him, and they needed a fucking referee to watch anything together.

After about an hour, Derek figured he'd stayed long enough to be polite. 

"Next time, bring that Lahey kid with you. He could use some human conversation, too." Noah clapped him on the shoulder with a smile as Derek walked to the door. "You lot are too quiet." 

"He works nights now, but I'll tell him," Derek promised reluctantly. He could feel Stiles's eyes on the back of his neck as he closed the door behind him without a glance. 

He walked to his motorcycle and waited five minutes before he retraced his steps and quietly climbed onto the roof of the house. Then he walked along the drainpipe until he came to Stiles's open window and climbed through it. It felt good to see the window open as if Stiles had invited him in.

He sat down in the desk chair, old memories rushing up to him as he looked around the room. It had changed too, yet another change he hadn't noticed. The walls had been painted. The bedsheets were new. The bookshelves still had comic books and DVDs, but now they were crowded with college textbooks, photos of friends Derek didn't recognize, and a few trophies from what looked like collegiate Speech and Debate. He didn't see any pictures of Phillipe. He still couldn't remember what he looked like. 

 

 

 

It was another good ten minutes before he heard Stiles on the stairs. Derek sat very still as he listened to Stiles walk up to the room, hesitate at the door, then open it slowly. His eyes sought out Derek immediately, his face relaxing slightly as he registered Derek's presence. He closed the door behind him without turning on the light in the room. It was dimly lit only by the computer, just like the night before. 

"You had your father ask me to dinner so I couldn't say no," Derek voiced his suspicion aloud. 

"Wanted to make sure you could still look at me." Stiles tilted his head to the side and leaned back against the door he had shut. "Seems like you can."

"What's wrong with you?" Derek asked, his voice harsh and grating in the quiet room. Stiles flinched somewhat, shifting slightly to the side and exhaling loudly through his nose. 

"Alright, you don't approve of Grindr. I got it already." 

"Stiles." Derek held himself in the chair by a thin thread of control. "You know better than to play this game with werewolves." 

"Werewolves?" Stiles looked at him again, some confidence returning to his eyes. "Werewolf. Singular. You." 

"If it were anyone but me, that kid from the other night could be dead," Derek growled at him. "I grew up with the wolf so I understand it. But you can't...  _antagonize_ it like that." 

"Antagonize?" Stiles laughed softly. Then his face hardened and anger that Derek hadn't seen, or maybe noticed, before bled through. "Six years. I've waited _six years_ for you to look at me as anything but an obnoxious little brat. I finally figured out something that works." 

Derek was silent as he registered what Stiles was saying, confirming his other suspicions. 

"You pushed all the wrong buttons," Derek told him softly, his claws itching. "You did this the worst way possible. You know werewolves are territorial." 

"Doing it the right way didn't work." Stiles frowned at him, still angry. "I tried everything to get your attention. I threw myself at you. You brushed me off every time." 

"You're..." Derek caught his breath, confusion rolling through him as he tried to reanalyze all his past interactions with Stiles through that admission. It still didn't make sense to him. Stiles had been so far off his radar that his behavior hadn't even registered as flirtatious; he had thought Stiles was purposefully bothering him. "You were a child." 

"I'm not anymore." Stiles looked hard and certain, setting his shoulders and lifting his chin. His defiance sent a shiver through Derek. A flash of animal _want_ broke through his remaining control and Derek was across the room in an instant. He stopped himself just short of touching Stiles. Stiles didn't look startled by the movement, his eyes cooly refocusing on Derek's new, and very close, position.  

"This is all wrong now. I don't want to protect you." Derek closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to try to wrangle the wolf. "I want to..." 

"Yeah," Stiles whispered, terrible music in Derek's ears. Derek worried at the delight in Stiles's voice; he had no idea what he was getting into, and Derek didn't have the strength to warn him now. "What did it feel like, watching me with him? Did you want to fuck me too?" A thrill tore the change from Derek, his claws lengthening and his teeth growing sharp in an instant. Derek shuddered at the sudden transformation, keeping his eyes closed so that the wolf couldn't see Stiles and charge him -- but it could still smell him and hear his heart beating steadily less than a foot away. Control was slipping away from him again. "Did you want to share me?" 

"No," Derek snarled, opening his eyes so he could glare at this reckless, foolish human. "I wanted to _kill_ him." Derek slammed himself into the door so that he wouldn't slam into Stiles. Stiles barely jumped at the sound of Derek's hands pounding against the wood on either side of his head. "And then take you... whether you wanted it or not." 

"You didn't." Stiles raised his eyebrows, somehow managing to seem unimpressed with Derek's horrible admission. "You wouldn't," he said with a certainty Derek didn't feel. He looked Derek over with interest, fascination almost, his parted lips the only sign of his arousal. "And I've always wanted it." 

"Good." Derek pushed himself away from the door with force. He was breathing hard, his mangled control ebbing with every new word out of Stiles's mouth. But he could hear the Sheriff climbing the stairs now, his heart rate slightly elevated in concern, probably from the sound of Derek nearly breaking the door. "Because you have my attention now, Stiles," he hissed the words, angry at Stiles for pushing him too far and with himself for losing his hard-won control. 

Derek launched himself out the window as a knock came on the door.

"Just moving my bookshelf around, dad. I'm fine." Derek heard Stiles reassure his father as he ran back to his motorcycle and took off before he could do anything else he would regret.

 

 

  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I apologize to all Brets -- it's really a lovely name** 
> 
> (Also, happy holidays!)

 

 

Isaac had gotten used to Derek's moodiness over the past few years of living together. He avoided Derek when he was "snarling" unless he got the sense that he really needed to talk. Apparently, Isaac thought _this_ was one of those times because he didn't avoid him when he got home, even though Derek was visibly seething. 

"I need to go to work," Isaac announced from the door, sounding uncertain. He tracked Derek's movements as he kicked off his shoes and sank into the living room couch to stare angrily out the window at the trees. Nature usually calmed him -- and calmed the wolf in him -- but Derek wasn't sure he could be calmed at the moment. 

Isaac sat down next to him. Derek resisted the urge to move. 

"You'd think that after six years of being a part of a pack, Stiles would have some basic understanding of werewolf instincts," Derek complained lowly. 

"What did he do?" Isaac asked softly, rubbing at his eyes like he was tired. He probably was. Night shift was a bitch, even for a werewolf. 

"Believe me when I say you don't want to know," Derek muttered, his thoughts dark.

"I'll talk to him," Isaac sighed. "He's been at school for the last four years. He's probably just rusty. Needs a refresher course in werewolf do's and don'ts." 

"No," Derek's heart sank as he realized how true that statement was. "I need to do it. This is between us." 

"Wow." Isaac's eyebrow went up as he considered Derek. "Uh, please don't kill each other. I kind of like both of you." 

"I don't think that's what you should be worried about." 

"Ok... well, if you're done with the cryptic, mysterious brooding, I really have to go to work." 

Derek glared at him. Isaac bumped his shoulder and stretched before he walked out the door. 

Derek spent a long time just sitting there in the dark of the living room, watching the sliver of moon slowly ascend in the night sky. His wolf sizzled in his veins, unable to settle. 

 

 

 

Derek went to work tired the next day feeling restless and ready to destroy anyone with the misfortune to cross him. Luckily, he dealt with petty grievances all day where he could get away with grunting answers. Derek normally hated traffic duty, and he rarely did it because the sheriff more often needed his supernatural skills in criminal investigations, but he was grateful there was nothing more interesting for him to do. 

When he'd finally gotten to sleep early that morning, his dreams were a mess of both violence and sex, littered with the smell and sight of Stiles and his one-night stand. As unsettling as it was to admit to his violent desires, he could still recognize them as the activated, angry, territorial wolf in him, rather than the instincts of the man. He knew, rationally, that Stiles wasn't "his" to defend -- and even if he was, manslaughter was hardly the route he would prefer to take. That feeling belonged entirely to the wolf instinct -- confused by Stiles's enticement and enhanced by Derek's refusal to let the wolf act on its desire to claim Stiles.

It was maddening to think Stiles didn't realize he'd started this tsunami of feelings in Derek. At some point in their history, Derek had come to expect intelligent decision making on Stiles's part in most areas of life, but he had to admit that there was nothing planned about this. Stiles had seen an opportunity and taken it, and his apparent long-time crush on Derek had blinded him to the consequences of baiting a werewolf. Which left Derek to suffer in silence or... well. Derek wasn't going to even entertain the other options.

Luckily, Derek knew his wolf well enough now to know that when it wanted something this bad the only way to relieve the pressure was to give it something similar, something his human side could also live with. 

Derek knocked on the door to the Sheriff's office at lunchtime to find him at his desk with a sandwich. Noah was playing fantasy football on his computer and he nodded at Derek distractedly. 

"This trade has not benefited me," Noah muttered as he clicked around. Derek actually found himself smiling for the first time that day. Noah took his fantasy football team more seriously than anyone probably should.

"So." Derek cleared his throat. There was no gentle way to open the conversation topic, so Derek just dove in. "Phillipe." 

"Hm?" the Sheriff looked up from his desk in confusion. "Oh. Yeah." His face drooped and he looked back at the computer. 

"What happened?" Derek asked slowly. Noah glanced at him before clicking out of whatever he used for his fantasy football... thing. He leaned back in his chair and gazed forlornly at his half-eaten sandwich. 

"No clue. Stiles won't talk about it." He sighed. Derek could guess at how frustrating that must be for him. He worried about Stiles, away at college and being _Stiles_ , and Noah had seemed enthusiastic about Phillipe every time he mentioned him. Fine, upstanding guy, apparently. 

"When?" Derek wondered. 

"Couple months ago. Maybe six? It's been a while. He was acting weird and didn't tell me right away, of course. But he couldn't keep it a secret when I asked him if Phillipe was coming for Christmas, like he had the last two years. His family lives too far away to make it out for the holidays." 

"Hm," Derek hummed to himself, thinking. "What do you suspect?" 

"You want motive?" Noah chuckled to himself. "Phillipe was solid. Responsible. Kind of a counterweight to Stiles. Not that Stiles can't be responsible, but, well, you know him. I wondered at first, actually, what they liked about each other. Stiles can be so unpredictable, is the thing -- but his heart is made of gold." 

"Right." Even though Derek was pissed at Stiles, he could still admit that.

"Could have been this supernatural shit, honestly." Noah's shoulders slumped as he rubbed a hand over his face. "Stiles didn't tell him about it, and I know he was trying to keep it a secret. Phillipe didn't like secrets." 

"I see." 

"Why?" Noah looked at him with a frown, his eyes narrowing. Derek resisted swallowing the way he wanted, trying to appear calm and collected. 

"You said he was acting weird." Derek shrugged. "I agree." 

"Well, it's nice that you care, I guess. If he _ever_ tells me why they broke up, I'll let you know. Assuming I'm not sworn to secrecy."

Derek chatted with Noah about his fantasy football team for a few more minutes until his paltry knowledge ran out. Then he let himself out. He sat down at his desk in silence to consider his options for giving the wolf something it wanted to keep it from something it shouldn't.

 

 

  

 

 

Derek got a text from Stiles later that night as he was preparing dinner. He knew immediately that it was from him because people who texted him regularly knew better than to do so at this time of night -- when he was both tired and hungry.

_You coming over?_

Derek stared at it. Why Stiles would assume that he would crawl in his window every night, Derek had no idea. 

_no_

Derek threw the phone on the table a little too hard and finished seasoning his pasta. He was stirring vegetables in to the sauce when his phone buzzed again. Derek glared at it for a long time before he let himself look at it. His wolf was already restless at just the thought of visiting Stiles, especially now that they were invited.

_So I should ask Bret to come over, then_

Derek stared at the text, his frustration mounting. Who the hell was Bret? Why was Stiles telling him this? Derek couldn't understand what Stiles got out of continuing this one-sided conversation. He had just decided not to respond when the next text lit up his phone.

_You can watch again, if you want_

This time it wasn't Derek's temper that flared, but the wolf's. As understanding settled through him and he put the name "Bret" to the unnamed, naked body the wolf wanted to sink its teeth into, Derek was lucky he didn't break his phone in his fist. His vision turned red and before he knew it he was throwing on his jacket and jamming the stove off, leaving his dinner unfinished. 

He leaped on his motorcycle and was out of the preserve and in Beacon Hills faster than he could remember. If he'd been on traffic patrol, he would have chased his ass down. Luckily, he didn't run into anyone on patrol. 

Fucking _Bret._ What a terrible name. Not even a name, really, more of an unpleasant sound. Derek decided to hate all Brets he encountered from then on. _Bret._ Shit. What was it short for? Brettikins? Bretstiphor? Brettor? No, it was probably just Bret, that nonsense, non- name.

By the time he reached Stiles's house he had gotten more of a handle on himself again. His blood was sizzling, but his mind was clearer. He had decided one thing: Stiles successfully manipulated him into driving there, but Derek was running this show now. He wasn't going to let himself be controlled by either Stiles or his wolf. He would only give them what he was comfortable with.

Stiles was sitting calmly on his bed when Derek peered in through his window. He wasn't even playing with his phone, just waiting. Derek almost cursed at how successfully Stiles had read and exploited his weakness.

The window was open so Derek slid inside without making a sound. Stiles didn't even notice him until Derek walked into the middle of the room to announce himself. 

"Still think this is a game," Derek murmured, his muscles humming with the fury of the wolf. 

"If it is, I'm winning," Stiles answered softly, his gaze running over Derek's form with visible heat. "Come over here." 

"No, I don't think so." Derek tilted his head to the side, smiling in a crude imitation of Stiles's own facetious grin. "You offered me another show." 

Stiles's lips parted in quiet surprise. He held Derek's gaze before he nodded slowly. 

"Alright." Stiles relaxed back into the bed frame, seemingly unworried with Derek's request. "What do you want to see?"

"Your dad's home." Derek listened as the Sheriff loaded the laundry downstairs while humming "Maneater" to himself. "Reckless again, I see." 

"We could always go back to your place," Stiles suggested, his eyes glittering. 

"You'll just have to stay quiet," Derek said firmly, lowly. Stiles stared at him in response, his arousal evident even in the silence. "Go on." 

Derek sat down in the desk chair and watched as Stiles slowly took off his shirt, glancing at Derek with forced nonchalance as he slid out of his jeans and underwear. Derek's dick filled at just the sight of him there on the bed, as long and lean as Derek remembered. He most appreciated Stiles's newly full shoulders, broad and roped with lean muscle. His hips were Derek's next favorite part of him, his hip bones framing a taught V of muscle in the low lighting. Derek watched as Stiles slowly took his dick in hand and sat up on his knees to give Derek a full view of his body. He glanced down at his dick and stroked it a few times, his neck muscles tightening with the strain of pleasure. Then he very deliberately tilted his chin back, appealing to the wolf as he had the last time they were in this situation. It worked, but fuck all if Derek was going to let him know that.

"I've seen this already," Derek commented, aiming for boredom and miraculously accomplishing it. 

Stiles flushed, his expression struggling for neutral. The flush traveled quickly down his neck to stain his shoulders and chest. Derek knew how vulnerable he must feel -- on his knees and naked for Derek when Derek was just lounging in his desk chair, fully clothed. Derek propped his feet up on the edge of the bed and crossed his fingers casually over his stomach as he leaned back in the chair, emphasizing his comfort with Stiles's discomfort. Stiles's red-faced embarrassment faded as determination took over his gaze. 

"Fine, dickhead." 

Stiles rummaged around in his bag at the foot of the bed and returned with a dildo, looking somewhat triumphant. It was an impressive size, made of some dark blue gel. Derek could immediately imagine what Stiles would look like using it. Derek mused for a moment on the fact that of the few things in the bag that he brought home for spring break, a dildo made that list. He must really like it.

"No." Derek shook his head. "No toys." 

Stiles swallowed and slowly set the dildo on his nightstand. 

"Turn around," Derek ordered him. Stiles narrowed his eyes at him before pivoting on his knees. Derek almost liked this view better, the sight of the sweet curve of Stiles's ass better than a meal after a long day -- in this case, literally. But in truth, every part of Stiles was attractive to him now. "Bend over." 

Stiles quietly sank onto all-fours. He spread his legs somewhat, either for comfort or to give Derek an unfettered view of his hole. Then he reached a hand between his legs to stroke over his taint and down his balls. He stopped there to massage and mold them, playing around until Derek could see him growing hard. Derek licked his dry lips. The wolf in him whined with desire. 

"Better," Derek murmured.

Stiles arched his back in response, opening himself to Derek even more and leaving Derek breathless. Stiles reached for his bedside table again and Derek knew what he was going for. 

"Not that either," Derek instructed him. "Just stroke yourself. I don't want you touching your ass." 

Stiles's shoulders turned red again and he hunched inward at the command. Probably subconsciously, he spread his legs even more and settled into masturbating in earnest, his hand gliding along his shaft quickly despite the lack of lube. Derek suspected that it didn't  hurt much if Stiles was still so hard. 

He let Stiles go on like that for a while, content with his own arousal and the wolf purring inside of him in its pleasure at taking Stiles like this. Derek felt freer to do what he wanted when the wolf was sated -- safer in moving toward the bed and positioning himself close behind Stiles's pert ass. Stiles didn't pause in what he was doing, but Derek could see the line of tension in the curve of his back, the tense set of his hips. He was hyper-aware of Derek there, aware of how close he was to touching him. 

Derek resisted his own desire to pull out his cock. He settled on his knees behind Stiles and carefully spread his cheeks to look down at his pink hole. Stiles's breath shuddered out on a soft moan, his hand speeding up on his dick. 

"You like feeling full." Derek spread his cheeks more, stretching his opening between his thumbs. It clenched uncertainly. "I remember. You like taking it." 

"Yeah," Stiles admitted in a shuddering breath. "So give it to me already." 

Derek pressed a thumb lightly against the pink pucker, pressing but not entering. It was soft under his fingers, wrinkled but smooth. He gently stroked it a few times, aware of the increasing tension radiating from Stiles, the shiver that ran through his shoulders and down the beautiful line of his back. 

"Why should I give you what you want?" 

Stiles moaned low, obviously both frustrated and turned on. Derek smiled to himself, reveling in the control he had regained by giving in on his own terms. 

Derek leaned down and blew gently on Stiles's opening. Under Derek's hands, Stiles's cheeks flushed and twitched as Stiles let out a half-formed curse, his hand flying on his dick now. 

Derek put his own hand down to catch Stiles's come when he felt the man under him tense and curse again, his breath frozen in shaky moments of pleasure. His come was hot on Derek's hand, warm and sticky-feeling. Derek waited patiently for him to finish before he patted him lightly on the base of his spine, just above the curve of his ass. 

"Good." Derek let Stiles sink down onto the bed, drained. He examined the come in his hands. Stiles's hooded gaze found him as he lay there catching his breath. 

"What?" Stiles asked weakly. 

"What?" Derek parroted back. 

"What do you want?" Stiles asked, closing his eyes. 

"I can still smell him on you." Derek's wolf bristled with rage as Derek admitted that. "I'm not going to touch you until you're clean." 

"We used a condom. I've showered twice since then. What the fuck," Stiles sighed.

"Clean yourself," Derek offered his hand to Stiles. He stared at it for a moment before his eyes tracked to Derek. 

"You serious?" 

Derek waited patiently with his hand out. Stiles struggled to his knees, obviously still weak from his orgasm, and touched his hand to Derek's come-covered one. He pressed into the liquid-like substance before reaching back and smearing it over his hole. To his credit, he was thorough, rubbing a generous amount of come on his skin.

Derek and the wolf in him watched with delight. His dick felt about ready to explode in his jeans. He heard a low rumble and realized it was coming from himself.

"There," Stiles muttered, his broad shoulders red again. Then, to himself, "fucking werewolves." 

"Superficial," Derek dismissed him while he smoothed one hand over Stiles's ass cheek, allowing himself that small pleasure of touch. "I can smell him _inside_ of you." 

"You're such a bastard," Stiles cursed at him as he mashed their hands together again, coating his fingers. 

"Nice and deep," Derek instructed him as Stiles gingerly prodded at his opening with two fingers. The fingers dipped inside, and the sight of them disappearing fed Derek's growing arousal. Stiles winced at the feeling of being fingered when he was no longer aroused. Derek knew it wasn't the best feeling -- which is why he had waited until then to ask him to do it. He wanted Stiles's pleasure minimized in punishment for all the ways he'd toyed with Derek lately. 

"That's good," Derek commented in an offhanded way. "Why don't you keep doing that until you get hard again." 

Stiles mumbled something into the pillow he'd mashed his face into -- probably swearing at Derek again -- and shoved another finger in with the other two, opening himself even more. Probably out of sheer determination, Derek thought.

Derek licked the rest of the come from his hand as he watched Stiles stretch himself out on his fingers. The taste of Stiles's arousal on his tongue was electrifying, lighting up parts of his body that had lay dormant for too long. When Stiles adjusted to better finger himself, the angle was obscene -- Stiles's ass was so open to his gaze, so vulnerable to him. Now that Stiles smelled wholly, completely like himself, Derek could let his control go a little more. His cock ached in his jeans, full and persistent, but Derek ignored it for now. Stiles wasn't getting everything he wanted tonight, and neither was the wolf. 

It didn't take Stiles long to harden again under Derek's watchful gaze. Panting, Stiles flipped over onto his back, arching his arm under one leg and using his newly freed hand to stroke himself again. He met Derek's eyes, flushed. Derek watched quietly, lifting one of Stiles's legs up onto his shoulder to get a better view of the fingers disappearing into his opening. 

"You ever going to fuck me?" Stiles asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. He tilted his head back, exposing his neck for the wolf. Derek growled approvingly in response. 

"Not tonight," Derek replied, gluing his eyes to where Stiles was fingering himself. 

"What?" Stiles stopped everything he was doing to focus all his energy on glaring at Derek. When Derek didn't correct himself after a tense pause, Stiles sat up and away from him, his expression fierce.

Derek sank back on his heels and braced himself, his erection forgotten.

"Why not?" Stiles demanded, his eyes blazing.

Derek considered him, his heaving, reddened chest; his flushed cheeks; his tousled hair and plump mouth. Derek could so easily just forget about everything else and lose himself in the feeling of sex. 

"Why did you break up with your boyfriend?" Derek asked instead after a moment of silence. 

Stiles gaped at him before real anger sparked in his expression. 

"None of your fucking business." 

"It is if you're using me to get over him." Derek cocked an eyebrow, watching Stiles's reaction closely. Stiles was silent for a moment before he looked away from Derek and curled his legs up to his chest as if to protect himself from Derek's gaze. He wrapped his arms around his legs, curling tighter. 

"I won't be used, Stiles." Derek sighed, some of his own frustration cooling as he sat in their silence. The heat between them rapidly cooled too with this new conversation direction.

"I'm not. That's not it." Stiles frowned at him, looking more guarded. "I'm not still into him, and I'm not trying to... replace him, or something."

"I think you're forgetting who you're talking to." Derek quirked one side of his mouth and did his best to look like a Good Cop. "Remember, my ex killed half my family. I know about bad breakups." He paused, wondering if he was pushing too far. "I can recognize them in other people." 

Stiles shifted uncomfortably and suddenly Derek didn't want his nudity anymore. He took off his jacket and tossed it over to him. Stiles caught it and slung it over his shoulders. He looked thoughtful as he fingered the leather in silence. 

"You miss him." Derek shrugged. It was a statement of a fact, as good a guess as he could make without any other information. Most people missed the people they broke up with. 

"Yes," Stiles said slowly, looking confused. "But I don't miss _being with_ him. He broke up with me, but I... I made it happen. I don't want to go back to that relationship."

"Your dad loved him." 

"I know." Stiles laughed, an exasperated noise, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was an old gesture, something teenage Stiles might have done, and it warmed Derek's heart. "I liked him a lot, too. Malia was my first relationship, but Phil was my first real one. We slept over all the time and kept clothes at each other's houses. Spent holidays together. He could pronounce my real name," Stiles chuckled to himself at that admission. Derek stayed silent, as did the wolf.

Something about Stiles sharing this was healing the angry tension in Derek, too. Derek had never felt close to Kate the way Stiles had to Phil, but Derek could understand this pain. Derek could always understand pain. He'd felt every pain possible.

"If you wanted to break up, then why are you acting like this?" Derek asked next. That still didn't make sense to him. 

"Like what?" Stiles asked, looking defensive again. 

"Grindr." 

"Jesus, again with this." Stiles huffed a breath, exasperated again. "People do hook up, Derek. It's a thing. Grindr's new, but anonymous sex isn't. Even in your day and age you must have known about it." 

" _People_ do." Derek shook his head in defiance. " _You_ don't." 

"You're _judging_ me now? Seemed to like it well enough the other night." 

"You only sleep with people you feel close to. You're too uncomfortable with strangers." Derek knew this was a core aspect of Stiles. He loved those close to him fiercely, but it took a while to get to that inner circle.

"You don't know me anymore, man," Stiles hissed, obviously trying not to shout at Derek given his father's proximity. "You don't text, you don't call. You don't even email. You don't fucking care what happens to us." And this was some deeply buried bitterness that Derek knew about but didn't realize the extent of until Stiles's venomous words slid into him like a knife. 

"I care," Derek fought back in a quiet voice to match Stiles's. "I check in on you, whether you know it or not." 

"Why wouldn't you want me to know it?" Stiles narrowed his eyes in accusation.

Uh-uh. They were talking about _Stiles's_ problems. No way Derek was opening his own Pandora's Box.

"I'm leaving," Derek announced, sliding off the bed. Panic flashed through Stiles before it hardened into now-familiar anger. 

"Oh yeah, you _care_. Then why do I have to twist your arm just to get a visit?"

Derek stopped halfway through the window. He thought maybe Stiles's eyes shone too much in the half-lit room, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't have words to defend himself with, so he left.

 

 

 

 

 

Derek slept a little better that night, but his mood was still foul enough at work that Noah slapped him with paperwork and told him not to talk to anyone. 

"You and Stiles are on the same cycle, I swear," Noah muttered as he left Derek at his desk.

The wolf was somewhat easier to control now that Derek had allowed it access to Stiles, but Derek still found himself checking his phone randomly as he worked through boring report after boring report. Stiles's accusations hit him harder than he expected. He felt like a failure for not making it clearer that he cared. But that was also kind of the point, since everyone Derek cared about inevitably met a grisly end.

By the time he got home that night he was so low he barely had the motivation to make himself dinner. He threw himself down on the couch and waited until he heard Isaac bustling around at the door, getting ready to leave for work. 

"Hey," Isaac called.  

Derek grunted in response.

"I... did a bad thing." 

Derek sat up and caught Isaac's nervous expression. His claws itched. 

"...What?" 

"I talked to Stiles," Isaac admitted in a rush. Derek stared at him until he kept talking. "I know you said not to, but I wanted to say hi anyway, then he asked me all these questions about werewolves, and I figured I was doing you a favor by answering them." 

"What did he ask?" Derek felt dread fill the pit of his stomach. 

"Mostly questions about when we act territorial." Isaac scratched the back of his head. "I thought it was harmless. But then he started laughing and made me leave, so I'm guessing it wasn't." 

Derek collapsed onto the couch again. "Go." 

"Sorry. I made you food." Then Derek heard the door open and close. He dragged himself up and to the kitchen. Despite himself, he smiled at the plate of warm spaghetti waiting for him at the kitchen counter. He knew this reckoning was coming, one way or another. Isaac just got unlucky.

He pulled out his phone as he sat down to eat. Before he could think about it too much, he sent Stiles a text. 

_Come over_

Derek started to worry when he was rinsing his plate and Stiles still hadn't responded. But a few minutes later, he heard Stiles's old jeep on the driveway. He finished cleaning the kitchen and walked to the door to find Stiles leaning against his jeep, arms crossed over his chest. 

Derek swallowed. He looked so good now, his broad shoulders stretching his shirt like that. Derek still didn't know how Stiles had turned into this man when he wasn't paying attention. 

"I know," Stiles proclaimed, looking smug. His mischievous mouth was curled in a smile. Derek wanted to bite it.

"Isaac mentioned that you spoke," Derek acknowledged dryly, trying to keep his cool. 

"I'm guessing he wasn't supposed to talk to me." 

"I hope you didn't tell him everything," Derek lifted one eyebrow. "Might scar him for life." 

"I kept it PG." Stiles pushed off from the jeep and tucked his hands into his jeans. He looked out at the lot, Derek's Camaro the only other vehicle beside his jeep. "Glad he's not here right now." 

"Come inside." Derek nodded his head in the direction of the living room. They should probably pretend to be civilized adults before this devolved into the usual debauchery. They ended their last encounter on a sour note, after all. 

Stiles's eyes glittered. 

"Or you could come outside." 

Derek's eyebrows shot up as he took in the way Stiles was looking at him with intention, his cheeks flushed and his lower lip caught between his teeth. He was communicating something, but Derek didn't quite understand what.

"I'll tell you why now," Stiles continued as he waited for Derek's response. "Why we broke up." 

Derek studied Stiles's expression carefully. He didn't look upset anymore, and he seemed more relaxed than the night before. Apparently getting a leg up on Derek's motivations had evened the scales between them.

"Why?" Derek asked slowly. 

"I already told you that I liked Phil. He was a good person. But I realized... I realized that no matter how hard I try to leave Beacon Hills, I never will. There are things that got under my skin here." Stiles closed his eyes, his shoulders heaving on a deep breath before he continued. "Things that changed me. And Phil was just normal. And sweet. And..." Stiles opened his eyes, his expression shifting from contemplative to hungry. "Harmless."

Stiles's whole body changed with that admission, his posture turning inviting. Derek felt his predatory instincts flare at the slight tilt of Stiles's head, overtly submissive. His own body tensed when Stiles took a step back. Then he took another. Like a thread tied them together, as Stiles began to back away from him, Derek felt compelled to follow, his wolf demanding he keep Stiles close.

Then Stiles broke into an all-out run.

Derek didn't think Stiles expected to get far. As soon as he had Stiles pinned down in the dirt, among the dead leaves and mossy grass and twigs and sharp pine cones, he saw Stiles was grinning even as Derek held his wrists down. Although, he was also half grimacing with pain, given their position.

A growl emanated from Derek's chest as he pressed Stiles down harder. Stiles's eyes sparkled and his smile grew as he struggled against Derek's hold, squirming his hips into Derek's thighs and kicking Derek in the back. He felt Stiles's human strength like a child wrenching at him.

Derek's grip held. Of course it held, it was never a question. Stiles was playing him all along. He wanted to be chased. He wanted to be caught. He wanted them rolling in the dirt like this, bruising each other, their heart rates skyrocketing. He wanted Derek to overpower him -- he wanted to _feel_ Derek overpowering him. He wanted Derek running on the wolf's instincts, to show him just how capable he was of hurting him... but to not actually hurt him.

Derek had been hunted before, but as a predator it didn't appeal to him. The opposite seemed to be true of Stiles.

Derek's grip softened as he processed this new truth. Stiles quieted almost immediately, his wild thrashing melting into weak jerks. The spark was still in his eyes, flaring with restless energy. He tilted his chin back, breath coming out ragged and loud.

Derek shuddered, trying to reform into a werewolf rather than a human and a wolf fighting one another. He made the conscious decision to lean down and nose at Stiles's neck, to inhale deeply. To growl deep in his chest. To press their hips together harder when he felt Stiles's cock jump in response. To drop his fangs and drag them along Stiles's exposed tendon and rabbiting vein.

Stiles groaned, and Derek shuddered again, this time for a different reason.

"You like this," Derek whispered, closing his eyes and reveling in the adrenaline leaking from Stiles's quivering body. "You like this side of me."

"Always have. Equal parts terrified and aroused," Stiles laughed, his laugh more confident than Derek expected. Derek bit it off at the end. Stiles gasped into his mouth, jerking with surprise as Derek delved deeply into him to taste him better. Scent and taste were often similar but not quite the same, and Stiles's taste followed that rule: rich and complex and nervous. Always so nervous around him. Now, with his hands pinned above his head and his erection against his hips, Derek understood him better. He was dangerous to Stiles -- but only to a point.

"You going to fuck me into the ground like this, or do I get a chance on top?" Stiles asked breathlessly. Derek shuddered again before he fought with himself to let go, roll over, and reorganize his biting hold from wrists to hips as Stiles scrambled onto his lap.

"Yes," Stiles whispered, grinding his ass down hard and clutching at Derek's shoulders. Derek's blood vessels knit themselves together as quickly as Stiles could crush them in a painful pleasure.

Derek didn't notice ripping through Stiles's clothes, but he felt it when Stiles tore one of his buttons. The cool air hit his chest as hot hands writhed over his pants. Derek pulled as Stiles pushed and then his glorious body was on display, tensed and roiling with energy as he fit himself over Derek's hips and pressed.

"Fuck," Stiles muttered as he searched desperately for something on the ground. Derek wanted all of his attention so he sat up and rolled them again, pinning Stiles to the ground with a firm hand between his shoulders. Stiles yelped in surprise and Derek had gotten himself halfway out of his pants before he realized what Stiles was saying.

"Sourwolf, jesus, just... lube. In my pocket."

A chorus of angels sang in Derek's mind as he found the little packet in the back pocket of Stiles's discarded jeans. He squeezed it onto himself before he parted Stiles's cheeks and thrust a finger crudely into the tight heat. Stiles pushed back rather than away, hissing in pain but obviously enjoying it as much as he didn't.

Derek held him down as he fingered him, enjoying the way Stiles struggled seemingly just to tease his wolf rather than out of any real desire to move Derek off of him. The feeling of Stiles clenching around him, slowly relenting to his stabbing thrusts, almost had Derek out of his mind with want.

It wasn't enough -- not nearly -- but Stiles didn't complain when Derek hauled his hips up from the ground and pressed himself inside. Stiles just braced himself against the ground, his forehead dragging against the dirt and his elbows skidding with each of Derek's thrusts.

Derek understood that Stiles wanted him to toe the line, but he wondered if maybe he had crossed it. Then a toe-curling moan of pure pleasure escaped Stiles's lips and Derek stopped questioning his instincts.

When Stiles's rhythmic groans grew pained, Derek sank back and dragged him up off the ground and into his lap, thrusting with sharp, quick movements into that delicious heat. Stiles bounced with every thrust. Derek admired the way his thighs absorbed the shock of Derek fucking him, somehow turning the movements graceful. It brought the image of Stiles riding that... that _Bret..._ back to the forefront of his mind, but this time a surge of possessive satisfaction came instead of jealousy. Derek raked a clawed hand up and down Stiles's thigh in appreciation, and Stiles tangled their hands together, using Derek's moment of distraction to grind back into him with purpose.

Derek had always thought of Stiles as pent-up, like a fenced animal always trying to escape but never quite breaking free. Maybe part of that was the ADD, but certainly some of it was inherent. This was perhaps the closest to truly letting go that Derek had ever seen from him. Stiles clawed a bruising hands through Derek's hair, his hips almost desperately thrusting back to meet Derek's as he barreled toward orgasm. His lips were slack with mostly silent moans as they wrenched together.

While he thought of Stiles as a caged animal, Derek hardly thought of himself as free. Stiles was determined to drag him out of his own carefully constructed boundaries so they could roll around in the dirt. Well, Derek was tired of fighting to keep himself in check.

Stiles left marks on him -- wide, blistering scratches that closed within seconds -- but Derek tried to keep track of his strength with the fragile human, tried not to leave anything that would last. He didn't really succeed. Stiles neck ended up a purple and red flecked mess, his thighs and hips covered in fading strips of raised pink from Derek's claws.

"I'm... ah... shit..." Stiles moaned, turning his head to urgently bite Derek's hand as he lifted it to cup Stiles's jaw. It stung and it woke Derek from his haze of arousal long enough to realize Stiles's body was damp with sweat and taught like a bowstring.

It was really the sight, smell, and feel of Stiles coming that pulled Derek's own orgasm from him. When Stiles gasped and jerked back, his arms going limp and trembling as he clutched at Derek, Derek felt peace settle deep in his chest. His wolf was sated. He buried his nose in Stiles's neck as his orgasm crashed through him, holding Stiles to him just as tightly as Stiles held him.

 

 

 

After their orgasms, the world widened a little more from his laser-like focus on Stiles and reminded him they were sitting on the ground in the preserve, not fifty feet from his house. Isaac was out for good for the night, but Derek didn't feel any better about their exposure. He lifted Stiles without any warning and started carrying him to the house.

"My clothes," Stiles mumbled into his damp shoulder, tired and weak.

Derek chuckled and hitched his hand a little lower on Stiles's bare thigh to squeeze Stiles's ass in a pinch. Stiles moaned and laughed into his skin.

"Ok, but Isaac's going to need therapy."

Moments later he pressed Stiles down on his bed, naked and sweet smelling, to kiss down his abdomen and brush the remaining twigs and leaves from his knees. His arms and legs were littered with scratches and blossoming bruises from the impact of the ground. Derek ran a hand over them to dull the pain until Stiles yanked him back up to lie down next to him.

"So..." Stiles cupped Derek's face in his hand and Derek couldn't help the rush of pleasure at the intimate touch. "Your wolf has claimed me. Have you?" 

"I'm still thinking about it." Derek closed his eyes, just feeling the warmth of Stiles's skin against his. The wolf was happy, ecstatic even. And Derek felt...

"Oh, yeah?" Stiles grinned, not at all bothered by his nonchalant answer. Pretending nonchalance meant nothing at this point; Stiles already knew. Derek was sure he weaseled the information out of Isaac before he sent him off. "What's with the bridal carry, then?"

"You couldn't walk," Derek reasoned. Or maybe he wanted to hold Stiles a little longer.

"Could so," Stiles breathed out happily and snuggled into his bed. His eyes closed as his smile grew gentle. "Big softy. Knew it."

"I just fucked gashes into your knees, and you're calling me a softy?" Derek reminded him, pulling a blanket over both of them. It was warm and soft and suddenly nothing in Derek was sharp or angry. He couldn't remember the last time he felt that way.

"And then you carried me to bed, wiped me clean, and tucked me in," Stiles sighed, grin spreading. "You've claimed me too."

"Don't get cocky." Derek thought for a moment. "Cockier, anyway."

"I did too." Stiles's eyes slid open until he was looking up at Derek through his long lashes. "A long time ago. Since high school. Part of the reason I just can't stay away from this place."

"Then stay." Derek could barely believe the words escaped his lips, but the answering sleepy, warm smile from Stiles made it worth it. It was quiet for long enough that Derek started to wonder if Stiles had drifted off. Then his hand found Derek's under the covers.

Derek chuckled to himself at the thought of trying to explain this to Noah tomorrow. At explaining their clothes to Isaac's scandalized face if he also fell asleep, comfortable as he was, and forgot to retrieve them from outside. At the bittersweet thought of sending Stiles back to finish college at the end of the week. At the fact that he was already planning weekend trips in his head. And holidays.

Maybe they started out rough, but Derek would make sure they ended up right.


End file.
